Season One
by in these chains
Summary: It's the first season of Lost, but with another character thrown in. How will her presence affect the rest of the castaways? Especially since she has secrest just like the rest of them... M TO BE SAFE. WARNINGS INSIDE


**Disclaimer: I don't own _Lost, _but I do own Keely.**

**WARNINGS: While there is no self-mutilation in this chapter, there will be in chapters to come. There might be rape, I'm not sure yet, and there will definately be child abuse and self-mutilation throughout the rest of the story. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

A blur of noise. Fire. There was fire. And screaming. People were screaming, screaming loudly in fear or moaning softly in pain. An English-accented voice reached my ears. Mainly because the owner of the voice put his mouth to my ear in order to be heard.

"Hey!"

I tried to move, to tell him I was okay, but I couldn't.

"Hey, kid! Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

I blinked. Things went into focus. The person bending over me had blond hair and a scribbling of facial hair.

"I'm not a kid," was what I said.

"Oh. Sorry. We should probably get away from here." He had this dazed look to him, almost as if he were stoned. But it was probably shock. From what? What had happened?

"What happened?" Usually I'm not one for talking, but I had to know.

"I think the plane crashed," he said.

"You _think_?"

"Yeah."

I sat up blearily. Yeah. The plane had crashed. One of the engines was still going, making one hell of a lot of noise. I realized I had my backpack with me, which had all my books in it. Thank God.

"You're right," I said. "We should get out of here. But I want to help."

Odd, really, how calm I was. My senses were fine; nothing was dulled or blurred. Nothing felt fuzzy. I was just completely calm. I started to stand up

"Hey, you!" A guy with a bloodied face and a suit ran past us, pointing at the English guy who had woken me up. "Get her away from here, she's just a kid! Get her out of here! Wait for everything to settle down!"

"I'm not a kid!" I called, but he was already too far away to hear. "Wonder what his hurry is."

"I dunno." This guy looked too messed up to even care. He was just kind of shell shocked.

"Excuse me!" Another guy ran up to us. "Do you have a pen?"

"_What_?" asked the English guy.

"We're trying to get a woman to breathe," he said. "Some guy with a suit told me the pen-through-the-throat thing was a good idea, so I need a pen!"

I looked at him blankly. "Sorry."

"S'okay. No problem." I noticed he already had several in his hand. He ran off. Whatever.

"So what's your name?" asked the blond guy, with the air of someone absorbing what was going on. He was getting over some of the shock.

"Keely."

"I'm Charlie."

Things settled down after a couple of hours, during which time I read more of _Eragon_, by Christopher Paolini. Once finished, I told Charlie I would be right back and went down to the ocean for awhile. He decided to sit by the water "just in case." Whatever. I took off my black Converse and socks, rolled my black cargo pants up above my knees and waded into the water, hoping I could find my luggage after the engine used up all the gas and everything calmed down. A couple of explosions happened, one involving that guy with the suit, a heavyset guy, and a pregnant girl almost exploding along with it. When I trekked down to the ocean, the pregnant girl was there as well.

"Hi," she said, with an accent. I didn't know where she was from, though; it's hard to place an accent from one word.

"Hi," I replied, crouching down to pick up a shell.

She was silent for a few moments, which I could understand. I mean, what was there to say? We were on an island after a plane crash. Not much to talk about. For those who are into talking.

"Where are your parents?" She was Australian.

"No idea," I said with a shrug. I really didn't care.

"Oh." The girl looked towards the horizon. "They _were _on the plane, right?"

"No." I tossed the shell back into the ocean and looked for a flat stone.

"Any relatives on the plane?"

"No."

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked. "I mean, on this island. In case they don't come for a couple of days."

"I'll be fine." I was always fine.

Another silence fell, and then she shifted her hand on her very prominent stomach. "I'm Claire."

"Keely." I decided I might as well make small talk. "Any names?"

"Hmm?"

"For the baby." I wasn't even going to bother wondering if she was pregnant or not. The only part of her that was fat was her stomach. "Any name ideas?"

"Oh." Claire looked a little happier that we were having a conversation. "No, not really. I was planning on picking it during the contractions, but that was before they actually started happening."

"You've had contractions?"

"Yes, before. They've stopped."

I nodded, selecting a flat black stone with strange red markings on it. The sand, or a crab, or something, had rubbed red powder on it in weird rippes. I was about to Frisbee it out to sea, to count the skips, but instead dried it with my My Chemical Romance T-shirt and tucked it into a pocket.

"So, what have you been doing the last couple of hours?"

"Hanging out on the edge of the jungle with Charlie, after being kicked away from even trying to help by some guy in a suit. The same one with the heavy guy who helped you away from the wing that was falling."

"Oh, you mean Jack and Hurley." Claire crouched down with a considerable amount of difficulty, and picked up a shell.

"Which is which?"

"The guy with the suit is Jack, and the guy with the hair is Hurley. Who's Charlie?"

"Some English guy. I guess he's my personal guardian now," (I made sure I said this with as much disgust as possible) "or something, because he woke me up. I guess I was knocked out."

"Are you all right?"

"Doesn't hurt." I started to head back up the beach, where the guy who had asked me for a pen was trying a radio, without luck. And an Arab guy was feeding a fire.

"Hey, you," he said to Charlie, who had my backpack next to him. The guy had an accent, too. "What's your name?"

"Me? Charlie."

"Charlie? We need help with the fire." He handed a stick to Charlie. "No one will see it if it isn't big."

"Okay, I'm on it," said Charlie. "What's your name?"

"Sayid."

"Sayid. I'm on it, Sayid." He glanced over at me. "Oh, Keely! Want to help me with the fire?"

"Why not?" I took up another stick. "See you later, Claire." Near us, an African-American woman clutched an amulet to her lips, silent tears coursing down her face. I would have asked her what was wrong, but I didn't want to disturb her. She'd probably lost someone.

We threw sticks on the fire for hours, until dark. At one point, Sayid approached me.

"We need more wood," he said. "Will you go and get some?"

"I'll go," volunteered Charlie. I looked at him, annoyed. I was perfectly capable of doing something as simple as heading over maybe three hundred feet to the edge of the jungle and grabbing a couple of sticks. But he went, glancing at me as he left. Whatever. I shook my head and raked my knee-length, straight black hair away from my face. People tell me I'm too pale. I was just waiting for someone to bring it up. You're too pale, you're so short, you're too skinny. I was thirteen years old. I could take care of myself.

When Charlie came back, Sayid and I were making a new circle of rocks that would be the border of our fire. The old one had been too small.

"Not gonna last long, the wood," said Charlie.

"You brought more than enough," said Sayid. "It should burn for long enough."

"I'll go see if anyone has any booze," I suggested. Charlie turned to me.

"Why?"

What, did he think I was an eighth-grade alcoholic? Jesus Christ. "Because, rum, vodka, tequila, the alcohol is concentrated enough that it burns. Like gas. Only there are no explosions." _Pirates of the Carribbean_ was not the mind-numbing movie for the masses that my mother had claimed it was. It was making our signal fire stronger, wasn't it? You can learn a lot from strange, obscure movies.

"I don't think that will be necessary," said Sayid. "If the wood burns low, we can as around."

"By the time that happens, everyone will have drunk it," I muttered, but no one listened to me. No one ever did.

Later, we sat on a log that, in my opinion, should have been feeding the fire. We could have sat on a rock, or even the sand, but again, no one listened when I said we should add it to the fire.

"You would think they would have come by now," said Sayid as Charlie scribbled something on his fingers with a permanent marker.

"Wha?" asked Charlie, pulling down his hood. "Who?"

"Anyone." Sayid looked at him. Charlie appeared not to know what to say to that, and returned to his fingers. I was staring into the fire. Out of boredom-induced curiosity, I looked around. Some blond girl was _painting her toenails. _Ugh. I hated when people did that under normal circumstances, and here was this girl, doing it on a deserted island. For Christ's sake! As I watched, the pen guy had sat next to her and offered her something, which she turned down, and from the looks of it, not too politely. They exchanged words, and then the guy ate whatever it was he had offered to her.

Sayid and Charlie weren't talking anymore, and I leaned back on the log, letting my hair touch the sand as I lay my head on it. With a sigh, I pulled myself up to see the heavy guy - Hurley? - sit down next to Claire on a piece of pipe, or some kind of metal. I decided to join them.

"Any more, uh... you know... baby stuff?" he was asking. He had a box in his lap, and Claire held a black tray with tin foil on it.

"No," she said. "I'm okay."

"Hello," I said. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Oh, no," said Claire. "Hurley, this is Keely, and Keely, Hurley."

"Yo."

"Hi." I sat next to Claire as Hurley handed her a plastic fork, and then gave me a meal in a tray and a fork as well. "Thanks," I said.

"No problem. Hang in there, Claire." He left.

"Yeah, you too," she replied.

Hurley came back gave her another tray as she opened the fork, and she smiled. He grinned and left.

"He's nice," I said. I peeled back the tin foil on whatever it was he had given me, and opened the fork.

"Yeah," she replied. "He is. Like a big teddy bear." Claire craned her neck, and I followed her gaze. Two people were walking towards us. A couple of steps revealed them to be that guy with the suit - Jack - and some girl I hadn't seen.

"You doing all right?" he asked Claire.

"Fine. No more contractions."

Jack nodded, then turned to me. "Hello."

I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Hello."

"I didn't catch your name, I'm Jack."

"Keely."

"I'm Kate," said the dark-haired girl at his side. Claire introduced herself.

"Listen, Keely," said Jack, "you're one of the only two kids that survived. The other one is younger, but his father is with him. Do you have any older relatives on the plane?"

Was it his business? "No."

"All right, then, I want you to stay with an adult at all times, all right?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Where are you going?" asked Claire.

"We were just walking," Jack replied. "I was talking to Kate, and decided I wanted to make sure Keely was okay, so we're walkign and talking."

They left. And then something made a very loud noise.

A sort of rumble. A crash. A growl and another crash.

I turned around. Sayid had stood up, and Charlie was in the process. I saw his mouth move, but didn't catch what he said.

Claire and I looked at each other and we both stood at the same time, following the gathering crowd.

A couple of trees were knocked over, as the sound continued.

"Did anybody see that?" asked Claire nervously.

"Yeah," replied Hurley, making me jump. I hadn't seen him come up to us.

A couple of loud clicks sounded, followed by a sort of groaning noise. What sounded like a steam pipe breaking. A weird whistling noise. Another crash. An another, louder one. Then another. More trees fell.

"Keely," said Charlie, just as a way, I guess, of making sure I was there. We stood in a line; Charlie, me, Claire, Sayid. Then Jack and Kate joined the line. "Terrific," Charlie said, in a tone that implied the very opposite of terrific.

_The flight had started out ordinarily enough. I was sitting in my window seat, the space next to me vacant. The earbuds of my iPod were in my ears, and I was leaning back, listening to Senses Fail reading 'Salem's Lot, by Stephen King. In front of me, the flight attendant handed the guy in the suit - Jack, though I hadn't known it at the time - a couple of bottles full of vodka. This, I was quite sure, was not allowed. But who cared? Honestly, it was none of my business. I considered telling on them, just to bug them, but then shrugged, realizing that was the sort of thing people that I hated did. And the woman gave the guy some booze. So what?_

_Jack stood up, and edged towards the aisle, but Charlie pushed past him._

_The woman in the seat across the aisle from Jack, who I now recognized as the same woman sitting near the fire, crying, said something with a small chuckle. Jack sat down. An attendant hurried past, followed by another. And then a violent gust of wind, it seemed, rocked the plane._

_I grabbed the arms of my seat, tensing. I hated flying. The plane continued to shake as I quickly let go, buckled my seatbelt, and put my iPod in my pocket. _

_A ding sounded._

"_Ladies and gentlemen, the pilot has turned on the 'fasten your seatbelts' sign. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."_

"_S'normal," said Jack to the African-American woman. She looked shaken._

"_Oh," she said, "I know. I've just never been a very good flier. My husband keeps reminding me that planes want to be in the air."_

"_Well, he sounds like a very smart man," said Jack with a smile._

"_I'll make sure and tell him that when he gets back from the bathroom," she replied._

_The turbulence increased, and the lights flickered. I could hear my breath coming out in high gasps, as I gripped the arms of the seat so tightly that my nails began to bend backwards. I barely felt it._

"_Well, I'll keep you company until he does," said Jack as the plane stopped shaking so violently. "Don't worry. It's gonna be over-"_

_The plane pitched skyward by the nose, and a couple of people flew into the air. Suitcases fell, and their contents rained down. My suitcase had been locked, but that didn't stop it from falling. It almost hit me, but I hit it with my hands, bruising them, but keeping the thing away from my head. People were screaming as the plane rocked and pitched and shook. I was hyperventilating. The oxygen masks popped down, and I quickly put the elastic around my head and the yellow part over my nose. I was still hyperventilating._

The next morning, I was looking for my suitcase. It shouldn't have been hard to find, considering I had written KEELY FAIRWEATHER and a skull-and-crossbones on it in liquid paper. That had taken me about an hour. But the point was, I couldn't find it.

And everyone was talking about whatever that thing had been last night. I wanted to forget about it. It had been a bad dream. A hallucination. Something. But it couldn't have been real. Even though I knew it was.

I stood up to soothe my back, which was aching from bending over for the half hour I had spend looking for my suitcase, and the ache wasn't helped by my heavy backpack, which I carried everywhere. As I stretched, I saw that Kate person from last night taking the shoes off a dead body. I walked over to her and put my hands on my hips.

"What are you doing?"

She jumped, dropping the one shoe she had gotten off. "Keely! You scared me."

"You're scaring me, what the hell are you doing?"

"Uh - I was going to go for a hike - and I needed better shoes-"

"Screw hiking, what's the point?" I didn't believe her. "We should be saved any day now. You might just get lost, and there are too many of us for a head count."

"I like walking."

Whatever.

"I do too. I'll join you."

"No!"

Aha. I tilted my head, giving her a look that hopefully let her know I was smarter than my short, skinny body showed me to be. "You're not just hiking."

"I don't have to answer to you, Keely," Kate said, taking the other shoe off the dead man and standing. "You're a little ten year old girl-"

"I'm _thirteen_, thanks for asking, and I'd like to know what you're doing." I slid my hands into my pockets. "You don't have to invite me, or anything. I'll just follow you."

Kate picked up both shoes and stood. "Do whatever you want, Keely."

Well, that was easy. I followed her away from the dead body, and we met up with Jack near a bunch of people, including Sayid, the pen guy, the toenail girl, Hurley, and Charlie.

"Hi, Keely," said Charlie. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping." I hooked my thumbs in my pockets. Jack looked at me.

"Keely, you don't think you're coming with us, do you?"

"No." Both he and Charlie looked relieved until I spoke again. "I'm following you."

Jack looked at Kate for an explanation. "I told her no, but she followed me here."

Jack sighed. "Would you guys mind watching Keely? Make sure she doesn't follow us?"

"What is this, a babysitting service?" asked the toenail girl. An African-American guy, who had a kid (apparently his son) next to him, gave her a disapproving look.

"Knock it off, Shannon," said the pen guy.

"It's cool, Jack, she can hang out with us," said the African-American guy. "Right, Walt?"

"Sure," said the kid, not really paying attention. Jack turned to me.

"Keely, go stay with Michael," he said as if he were talking to a four-year-old. I rolled my eyes.

"Whatever." I sat down a little bit away from the kid, facing the ocean. The pen guy cleared his throat, apparently about to attempt to make conversation.

"I'm Boone," he said. "This is my sister Shannon."

"Yup."

"And I'm Michael," said the African-American guy. "This is my son Walt."

"Yup. I'm gonna go look for my suitcase." I stood up and started to walk away, but Michael caught my elbow.

"Whoa, hey now," he said, "Jack told you not to follow them."

I scowled. "I'm not _going _to follow them, I'm _going _to look for my suitcase."

"Sorry, kiddo," said Michael, shaking his head. "You're staying right here."

I rolled my eyes again and sat back down. Damn adults. I inhaled deeply and let it out in a huff, sitting with my back to everyone and propping myself on my elbows. Walt scooted over to me.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I replied without looking at him.

"You're Keely, huh?"

"That's me."

"Were you really going to look for your suitcase?" he asked. "If my dad had let you go."

"Yeah. Not much use in following them now, is there?" I turned to look at him. "I dunno where they went. And even if I did, this close to camp they'd send me right back. Plus I really want my damn suitcase. If you'll excuse my language."

"I don't care," said Walt. "I hear worse in school."

"I'm sure. Kids these days. Soon as they hit ten, bam, they're cursing and talking about stuff that people my age shouldn't talk about."

"I'm ten," said Walt. "And you're a kid too."

I shook my head. "Might look like one, but I'm not." I stretched and took my T-shirt off. I had a black cami on under it, and the shirt was way too hot. I looked at it. Corpses dancing with a flame in the background. My Chemical Romance. Gotta love it.

"I'm sorry," said Walt. "I don't like being called a kid either."

"Not many do." I tossed the shirt to the side. "But some should be. There are some people in their twenties who are more of a kid than I am."

He nodded, understanding. "Do you like dogs?" he asked out of the blue.

"Eh?" I scraped my hair out of my face. "Dogs? Love 'em."

"Have you seen one around here?"

"No, sorry. Why?"

Walt shifted in the sand. "Vincent's gone. My dog."

"I'm sorry," I said. I meant it. I knew how he felt. "So's my cat."

"Really?" He looked up. "It was on the plane?"

"Yeah," I said, realizing I hadn't thought about Shruikan since... since loading him onto the luggage cart in the airport. Unless you counted the occasional pangs of worry during the flight. I looked up at the sky. "Um. Does it look like it's going to rain to you?"

"Does it matter what it looks like?" asked Walt loudly as the rain came down in sheets. Loud sheets.

"Walt!" said Michael. "Keely! Come on!"

"You'd think the island was about to explode," I muttered to Walt as we stood up. I liked the kid. Oops. I had called him a kid.

We ran over to a small overhang, with a tarp over it. Michael put an arm around Walt's shoulders, and I took off my backpack, reached into it, and put in the earphones of my iPod. But even the hoarse screaming of Gerard Way couldn't drown out the odd whistling noise, or block me from seeing the couple of trees fall. I paused my song and pretended I wasn't scared. Michael held Walt tighter. And we waited for something to happen. But nothing did.


End file.
